


Toe-To-Heel [Re-Write]

by HoneyFire



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Curious Thomas, Fluff, Gladers, Happy Ending, Hinted sexual content, Hugs, Lots of hugs actually, M/M, Re-write, The Glade, a very disgusted thomas, disgusted thomas, general gay affection, greenie!minho, hinted - Freeform, hinted gossip squad featuring teresa as the squad president, minewt, okay back to tags that will actually help this situation, slightly tormented thomas, the story only called for a dash(ner) of minewt but I spilled the whole damn container, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 06:33:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13607616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyFire/pseuds/HoneyFire
Summary: Minho reveals his memories of the first few days he spent in the Glade. Turns out, he wasn't always that great of a runner.





	Toe-To-Heel [Re-Write]

**Author's Note:**

> Long story short, I looked back at my original "Toe-To-Hell" one-shot and cringed so much that I just HAD to rewrite and fix it. This one doesn't make me want to bleach my eyes c: 
> 
> I also left the old version standing, just in case some of you liked that one better. And for those of you who have never seen the original, read at your own risk. 
> 
> Enjoy!

They both connected, sending the final Griever plummeting to its death.  Minho scrambled away from the edge as if burned, his face pasty white in color. Horrified eyes landed on his partner in crime. 

Thomas trained his eyes on the man, afraid to move. The tension in the air was suddenly so thick it seemed that something as minuscule as breathing would set Minho off. Given that he was dangerously close to the edge of the void, Thomas kept his mouth shut.

"I should have never..." Minho muttered, standing and hobbling away from the scene of the crime. Thomas timidly followed after him, keeping a safe distance. He eyed Minho's right leg, observing how the man favored it and tried to avoid putting weight on it. 

A particularly wobbly step had Minho slamming his back against one of the concrete walls. He hung his head low and slid down until his butt hit the ground with a soft thump. "...stupid leg."

"What are you talking about?" Thomas asked, kneeling beside him.

"My leg hurts like shuck, that's what." Minho snapped, casting him a weak glare. He yanked off his shoe, taking the sock with it,  to inspect the swelling that was already beginning to take over his ankle.

Thomas frowned, reaching out to touch Minho's ankle. "You hurt yourself?" 

Minho attempted to pull away, but Thomas caught it and maneuvered so that he could hold it in his lap. The Keeper opened his mouth, ready to scold the Greenie back into submission, but the words caught in his throat the moment those nimble fingers began to massage his foot.

"Thomas..." He whispered, reaching out to stop him. 

"Just let me do this," Thomas said, smacking the hand away. His fingertips found the soreness in one of the joints, making Minho gasp and close his eyes.

"Newt put you up to this, didn't he?" It was more of a statement than a question, so Thomas didn't reply. Minho was right, though, Newt _had_ carefully instructed him to massage Minho's ankles, had they ever begun to swell. 

"Did he tell you why?" Minho tried, folding his arms across his chest.

Thomas worked his fingers into Minho's Achilles heel, eliciting a gasp and small flinch. "No. He just threatened a second memory wipe if I didn't." 

"Good." Minho drew a canteen from his runner's pack and took a long drink from it. When he was done, he tossed it to Thomas. "It's been happening ever since I got up here. Think I broke my shuckin' legs before all this."

"Say, Minho," Thomas started, looking up at him with a devious glint in his eyes. "What were your first days up here like?"

"What?"

"Don't play coy with me, Min. We both know you haven't been a Runner forever." A light chuckle escaped Thomas. "What did you do your first few days here?"

Minho raised an eyebrow, trademark smirk sprawling across his face. "What if I don't want to tell?" 

Thomas let go of his foot, letting it fall into his lap. The smirk disappeared, replaced by a needy whine. "Fine! I'll talk. Just don't quit rubbing, shuck-face."

\- - -

The steel cables yanked the platform into motion, rising at a stomach-clenching speed. The containers of supplies toppled from their neatly stacked areas, landing in a messy pile on top of a sleeping boy.

The boy's eyes flickered open, staring down into the dark abyss he was descending from. Unfamiliar noises hounded him from all sides. He helplessly pawed at the steel box carrying him, forcibly pressed against the rough material. A particularly loud noise erupted from his left, and he screamed. 

Just as suddenly as it had started, the box stopped. The boy, however, kept going and was thrust into the air. He hit the bottom with a heavy thump, groaning in pain. 

A split moment of silence followed suit. Pure, untainted silence. A soft, mechanical hum sounded from above him, and suddenly he was being bathed in sunshine. Blinking blindly, the boy looked upwards, seeing nothing but a wide blue sky. He continued to look out until he began to hear voices. Real ones. Somewhere close by. 

They were distant at first, but they quickly grew closer in proximity. The boy dove for cover under some supply bags.

"Odd. We should have a new Greenie this time." 

"Must be a fluke."

"Now wait a bloody second." This voice was very different from the others. The boy had the sudden urge to poke his head out and discover who the owner of that gentle voice was, but he was too overwhelmed with fear to do it. 

"Newt, wait." 

"Relax, Alby. I'm just checking." The owner of the gentle voice,—Newt— said. "Go find Nick, would ya, second-in-command?"

Footsteps followed Newt's statement, signs of a man supposedly named Alby, leaving. The elevator shuddered as someone jumped down into it. The hiding boy struggled to hold back a whimper. 

The supplies began to move around, and little by little, the sunlight began to warm the boy's cold body. He hid his face in his arms, curling into a tiny ball and hoping to disappear back into nothingness. 

The last of the bags covering him disappeared, replaced by fingers running themselves through his hair and a gentle laugh. 

"Hey there." The boy pried a finger away from his eyes. A young blond, Newt, smiled back at him. His hand slid down to rub the soft skin of the boy's cheek. "Why are you hiding?"

This blond seemed eerily familiar as if they had known one another in a past life. He recognized that accent from somewhere, but he couldn't remember a thing. 

"Do you remember your name?" The boy went still. Why couldn't he remember?

"I...I don't..." He jumped at the sound of his own voice. "Where...why don't I-"

The blond pet his head again, shutting him up. "Don't worry, Greenie. You'll remember soon enough. Until then, I'll call you Bug." He wrapped a thin arm around the new Greenie, an apparent attempt at comfort. "Oh! I almost forgot, my name is Newt. Welcome to the Glade."

The boy decided right then and there that he liked Newt. He was nice, not to mention incredibly warm. Slowly, Newt stood up, pulling him along. The Greenie's legs shook and refused to fully bear his weight, buckling underneath of him. Newt caught him and pulled him back to his feet.

"Easy there, Bug." Newt laughed, holding him tight. "Let me help you."

After the difficult climb out of the box, walking turned out to be kind of fun. He was weak and unsteady, and couldn't even come close to matching Newt's pace, but it was fun. A part of him believed that his gangly long legs were the problem, always bumping into each other and giving out on him.

"Do you want to meet everyone?" Newt asked, holding the Greenie's waist tightly while the boy took his next timid step. The Greenie went rigid under his grasp and turned to cast a terrified look at Newt. 

"Or..." Newt began. "You can stay out in a little hut we built until you're ready. You're choice"

"Can I stay in the hut?"

It took the Greenie three days to learn to walk on his own. He and Newt hung out in the hut, hidden away in the middle of the woods. Newt occasionally ventured out to fulfill his daily duties, and the Greenie only left to bathe in the river, during the dead of the night, always accompanied by Newt. He had yet to remember his name, and the only Gladers he had met was a guy named Frypan. 

Right now, Newt had left to go deal with Gally and his devious shenanigans, so the Greenie was all alone. He was holding onto a chair in the room, weak legs still struggling to hold his weight. He couldn't help but notice that he was stronger than before, though. 

Carefully, he took a step forward, letting go of the chair. His legs shuddered, muscles straining, but they held strong. He took another step forward, arms held out to balance himself, then took another. His legs were difficult to control, but they worked diligently, with each and every step growing stronger than the last. 

He was ecstatic. "I'm doing it!"

He began making circles around the room, enjoying the challenge. The longer he walked, the more his legs ached, and the better he got. It was all fluid now, some old muscle memory coming back to him. But no matter how long he walked, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was doing something wrong. 

The door squeaked open, startling the concentrated Greenie and throwing him off balance. His butt hit the dirt with a soft thump. Newt emerged from the other side of the door, laughing sheepishly "Sorry, did I scare you?"

The boy shook his head and stood back up. Newt grinned. "Were you just walking, Bug?"

"A little bit." 

Newt held out his arms. "Come to me."

One foot after the other, the Greenie made his way to Newt, eager to be engulfed in a hug. Newt held him tight, making him feel safe and warm. It was an oddly familiar sensation that the Greenie swore he had felt once before, at a time where he was at his lowest. 

"Am I doing it right?" He asked timidly, voice muffled by Newt's thin shoulder.

"Let's see you go again." Newt slipped away and made his way to the other side of the hut, sitting in the sad excuse of a chair. 

The Greenie made his way over, suddenly very self-conscious about how he walked. The speed was all wrong. Newt had crossed the small room with a graceful ease, but the Greenie couldn't go any quicker. His toes hit the dirt first, followed by his heels. 

Finally, Newt's arms were slipping around his waist and holding him tight. He let out a sigh of relief, leaning on the smaller boy and basking in the affection. 

"You're walking toe-to-heel, Bug," Newt said, his voice firm but not scolding. "That might be what's throwing you off balance." 

"Toe-to-what?" The Greenie frowned. "I'm still doing it wrong?"

"Let me show you." Newt exchanged places with him and paced a small circle around the hut. "See how my heel hits the ground first?" 

"Oh." 

Newt circled back to him, reaching out to rub the newbie's head affectionately. "You're doing good though. I'm proud of you." 

The boy beamed, pride running through his veins. 

"Think you'll be ready to meet the Gladers soon?" Newt asked. His hands found the sensitive spots behind the Greenie's ears, rubbing gentle circles on them. The Asian shuddered, eyes falling shut, enjoying the touch. 

"I'd love to keep you all to myself." Newt continued, seeing as he wasn't going to get a reply that easily. "But that wouldn't be fair to you, now would it."

The Greenie whined, sparing Newt a glimpse of his disappointment. "I wouldn't mind."  

To further his point, he gave Newt a gentle nudge towards the blankets situated in the corner of the hut. Newt didn't bother protesting, opting to sit down in his designated spot and waiting on the Greenie to stumble over and curl up next to him. As soon as the boy was there, Newt was picking up one of his swollen ankles and massaging the joint. 

"Feel good?" He asked, scanning the Greenie's face for any sign of discomfort. 

"Yes." The boy sighed, eyes lulling shut. Newt's thumb dug into a particularly sensitive area in his ankle, making him gasp and his leg jolt.

"You must've broken your ankles before you came up." Newt concluded, finger running over a scar there. "Or at least done something to have you off your feet for a long time."

"I'm good with whatever as long as you don't stop." The Greenie whispered under his breath, just barely loud enough for Newt to hear. 

"You've only been here three days and I've already spoiled you rotten." Newt laughed, but he wasn't complaining. No, not one bit. The unnamed boy was a welcomed change, who never once objected to the affection Newt showered him with. In fact, he seemed to love it, unlike the others, who would flinch away from something as simple as a high five. 

Newt's gentle brown eyes locked on the Greenie's. His ministrations came to a halt. Gulping, he leaned down a little. The Greenie's arms snaked around his shoulders, encouraging him to go further.

"Is this okay?" He asked, focused on the Greenie's plump lips.

"Yeah."

"Good."

And then he leaned in and kissed him.

The Greenie's lips were softer than they looked, and he tasted like the strawberries he had eaten earlier. Their lips melded together perfectly, and Newt's world began to spin. He braced one hand on the floor, while the other wrapped around the Greenie and found purchase in his short hair. The noirette whined at that, lips falling open.

Newt's tongue ventured out to trace the Greenie's plush bottom lip, and when the unnamed boy didn't show any sign of discomfort, he delved in. Their teeth knocked together, almost painful, and Newt was pretty sure saliva was dripping down the Greenie's tan cheek, but he was too into it to care.

Kissing this boy felt like home, and while he couldn't conjure up an image of what home looked like, he was sure the Greenie was in it. 

"Newt." The Greenie panted against his lips, snapping Newt from his trance. "Newt, why do I feel like we've done this before?"

"I think we have." Newt murmured. "Now shut up and kiss me again, shuck-face."

 

* * *

 

"Minho, I like you, you're like my best friend and all but  _please for the love of God_ leave your make-out session with Newt out of the story." Thomas groaned, covering his eyes and reddened cheeks with his free hand. 

Minho wriggled his foot in Thomas's lap. "Keep massaging, Greenie."

 

* * *

 

 For the next few days, Newt spent his time watching the Greenie learn to walk properly. His gait was still fixed in an unnatural toe-to-heel movement, but he could occasionally be convinced to walk heel-to-toe. He constantly lost his balance, but Newt was there to catch him every time. Soon, the Greenie was chomping at the bit to go faster, to _run_. 

On one particularly hot day, probably two weeks after he had come up in the Box -that's what Newt called it, at least- the Greenie heard a rustling outside of the hut. Newt was scheduled to come back around that time, so he brushed it off, expecting for the boy to come bounding in at any moment. 

He was jumping and pacing around, legs moving in that unnatural gait of his, occasionally managing to step properly. It wasn't like it was hard to do, the heel-to-toe movements came almost naturally, the Greenie was just...scared, to say the least.

The door clanged open, the boy didn't bother looking, just laughed. "Hey, Newt."

When there was no reply, he looked up. His chocolate brown eyes landed on a tall, fair-skinned man with black hair. That definitely wasn't Newt. 

"Who are you?" He demanded, jabbing his finger at the Greenie. This must have been Nick, the leader. "What are you doing in here?"

The boy was speechless, backing away into the corner of the room. Nick stalked closer to him, cornering him.

"W...where's Newt?" He whimpered, cowering. 

Nick snatched his arm, dragging him from the safety of the hut. The Greenie whined, the crushing fingers threatening to leave marks on his skin. The boy fumbled around, twisting. His arm slipped from Nick's grip. 

"Hey!" Nick barked, hands blindly reaching out for him. "Get back here!"

The boy, terrified, bolted. He fell into a clumsy jog, his unnatural gait keeping him at a bare minimum. He looked at his feet, then back to Nick, who was just barely out of grabbing distance. The Greenie focused back ahead, trying to move his feet correctly. 

In return, his limbs picked up their pace, slammed into the ground heel-to-toe like Newt had shown him. His breath came out shallow and fast. With a new found, surprising ease he pushed himself faster, arms pumping along his sides. Instinct kicked in, snapping something in the back of his head. 

**_Minho._ **

Suddenly he burst forward. His breathing fell, deep and heavy, sounding like that of a freight train. He tore into a clearing and kept going. His mind wrapped around the word. His name. It was his name. His own little keepsake from his past. 

He remembered his legs moving at a blazing speed and suddenly found it easy to surpass that memory. His body worked like a tremendous machine, clumsiness and awkward steps forgotten. 

Nick was disappearing behind him now, left in the dust. Strange men joined in the chase, a select few of them much faster than Nick, but not fast enough to match Minho. In the corner of his eye, he spotted Newt, running towards him as well. His eyebrows were furrowed with worry, and he shouted Minho's nickname. 

"Bug! Bug come here!" He screamed as if Minho were his long lost puppy.

Minho took a sharp right, dodging outstretched hands, and set himself on a straight path to his friend. Newt would save him. Newt meant safety. Once he was close, he stumbled to a stop and slammed into Newt, arms wrapping around him tightly. 

"I remember!" He cried, excited. "My name. It's Minho." 

Newt's hug grew even tighter, and he pressed a kiss to Minho's cheek, dangerously close to his lips. "It's perfect." He said, gently. "You ran so well."

"Are you proud of me?" Minho asked, hope lacing his voice.

Newt grinned, ruffling his jet black hair. "Of course I am."

A pair of Gladers finally caught up with them, reaching out to pull Minho away from Newt. Minho whined, clinging onto Newt even tighter. Several more hands pried him away and wrestled him into a kneeling position. 

"I...I don't understand." Minho whimpered, putting up a futile struggle. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Newt broke out of his haze and shooed the Glader's away, muttering foul threats as he pulled Minho into his chest. 

"Newt, who is this?" Alby asked. His voice was light, a lot kinder than Nick's had been, but it was firm enough to make Minho look at his feet. 

"Guys, this is Minho." Newt tested the new name out carefully. Minho found himself loving the way his friend said it. As if it was a foreign delicacy. "He came up in the box last week. He was terrified and couldn't walk properly, so I hid him in the hut."

"Nick!" It was the troublemaker, Gally. Newt had been griping about him a few hours before. "What's your call? The cliff?"

Someone pulled Newt away from him. The blond fumbled, letting out a small cry of pain as his ankle rolled. Minho was seeing red. The next thing he knew, he was being torn off of the offender, whom he would later learn was named Zart. 

"In the slammer tonight, both of them," Nick said firmly. He folded his arms. "Then I want both of you training to become Runners as further punishment."

As Minho was yanked around and dragged towards the makeshift jail, he decided that he didn't trust anyone but Newt. All of them seemed to be too detached from emotion, that, or they simply didn't give a damn about anyone but themselves. He could believe either theory, considering how they were putting more effort into tormenting him rather than actually taking him to the slammer. 

A foot swiped under him as Minho took his next step. He grunted, struggling to regain his footing. Another foot nipped at his heel, scraping the bare skin. Minho hissed, wincing away from the next assault on his Achilles heel.

"Bloody hell, quit tormenting him," Newt growled, shoving Gally out from behind Minho, most likely the perpetrator behind the assault.

For the second time, Newt batted the Gladers away and wrapped an arm around Minho's waist. The smaller boy led them to the slammer without any further complaint, casting warning glares to anyone who so much as looked at Minho the wrong way.

"Is this really fair?" Alby asked, breaking the tense silence. All eyes were on him. "The Greenie was scared, you can't punish him for that. And Newt was doing exactly what the rest of us have done, had we known Minho was in that box."

"They need to learn a lesson, Frypan. They can't just avoid the rules, no matter how new they are." Nick said, clapping a hand on Frypan's shoulder. 

Minho didn't listen to another word any of the Glader's had said until he was standing in front of two open cell doors. It was then that Minho realized; they were being separated.

Newt let go of his waist, already making his way to one cell. Minho tried to follow after him, like a confused puppy wondering why his owner was leaving him. A broken whimper slipped from his lips when some of the Gladers held him back. 

"No, no no!" Minho cried, wiggling out of their grip. He skittered into the cell with Newt, clinging to him like an overgrown starfish. Sighs erupted from outside of the cell, irritated with Minho's clingy behavior. Newt caught Minho's chin, lifting his head up to make proper eye contact. Teary brown eyes looked back at him. 

"Hey hey, look at me, Bug." He whispered, combing his fingers through Minho's stupidly perfect hair. Minho peered up at him, tears streaming down his handsome face, which Newt wiped away with his thumbs. "Everythings going to be okay."

Nick and Alby stepped into the cell, hands settling on Minho's biceps to pry him away. It was a struggle, but the two men finally threw Minho into his dark prison. Newt found himself sitting against the wall, listening to Minho's muffled sobs until nightfall came, and then all was silent.

Newt would eventually wake up at midnight to thumping from the other cell, followed by Minho's wails of agony. Laughs and taunts followed, and one of the voices were Nick's. Newt couldn't make out what they were saying, but he knew what they were doing.

He slammed his fists on the heavy door, screaming for someone to let him out. Nobody came, and he was forced to listen to Minho's beating. It was a twisted form of initiation that Nick had come up with, one that nobody but a select few agreed with. Even Gally didn't agree with it, and he wasn't a rational person to begin with. 

The next morning, Newt found himself rushing into Minho's cell the moment he was freed and collecting the boy in his arms. He showered the boy in gentle touches and sweet nothings, attempting to reverse the damage that had been done on him. 

Minho didn't cry anymore after that. He shied away from Newt when he was caught off guard and developed a fiery temper that only yielded when he was called off by Newt. He took on his job of being a Runner quite well, enjoying it even, but every once in a while his gait would falter and Newt would be picking him up off the ground. 

Days turned into months and month's turned into years. A lot of things changed. Nick died. New greenies came up. Newt broke his leg and was retired from running. Minho developed into a strong runner with a tricky personality, untrusting of everyone but a select few. 

Each evening, Newt welcomed the Runner home with a big hug and an offer to rub his swollen ankles. He still kissed Minho's cheeks. Minho remained eager to please Newt, and his protectiveness over the blond only grew. And sometimes, just sometimes, one of them would drag the other off and -

 

* * *

 

"Eww!" Thomas blanched, sticking out his tongue in a disgusted manner and gagging. "I don't want to hear anymore! I'm done!" He scrambled up to his feet, hands in the air as a sign of surrender. 

Minho outright cackled, fumbling to put his sock back on. "You sure you don't want to know, _Tommy_?"

"Shuck no." Thomas looked incredulous, his eyes comically wide. "I do  _not_  need to know about your and Newt's sex lives."

"I was going to say he kisses me senseless but to each your own." Minho finished readying himself, grinning wildly and no longer upset.

"Let's just go back to the Glade. Now." Thomas muttered. He avoided making eye-contact with the Keeper, but Minho knew he was just doing it to further his point.

They returned to the Glade in record time. Thomas practically flew past Newt, dead-set on finding Chuck or Teresa to vent his horrors. 

"What did you do to the poor shank?" Newt chuckled, opening his arms for Minho to walk into. 

"Me? How could you possibly think I did anything?" Minho hugged Newt tightly, lifting him just a little to remind the blond of who was bigger. 

"Tell me, Min," Newt demanded, dodging a kiss. "Or no kisses."

An exaggerated groan escaped the runner. "I told him about my days as a Greenie. You kissing me for the first time, my funny walking, the whole shebang." With that, Minho stole a kiss, which he had rightfully earned, mind you.

"Explains enough." Newt glanced over his shoulder, finding Thomas chattering Teresa's ear off. Suddenly, Teresa's head was swiveling towards them, her mouth agape and smiling. Newt quickly trained his eyes back on Minho. 

"I killed a griever while we were out there, too," Minho said, mischevious. "I think that calls for celebratory cuddles in the map room?"

Newt swatted at the back of Minho's head, making the younger boy grunt in surprise. "You what? Are you two crazy? He  _let_ you kill a bloody griever? Have you not got a properly functioning cell in your brain?"

Minho giggled. "Thomas provoked it. I did what I had to."

"Thomas started it?!"

"Newt, calm down." Minho shook him gently. "It's just a part of being a runner, and look, we came home in one piece."

An exasperated sigh escaped Newt, and his thin arms dropped to dangle at his sides. "Fine, fine. Cuddles now, beating the shuck out of Thomas for putting my baby in danger, later." With that said, Newt took Minho by the hand and practically dragged him to the map room. To say the least, they did more than just cuddle. 

And later, when Minho was walking with Newt, hand-in-hand as usual, at dinner and passed by Thomas, he couldn't help but smirk and flash him the fresh hickey on his neck. Thomas couldn't choke on his food any quicker. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
